The Gift
by Nanumi
Summary: Short story of the day before Yuu's death, and the time after.


Have you ever fallen in love?

When it ended, if it ended…was it your fault?

My mistake is irrevocable. My penance is eternity. Eternity. An eternity alone with my memories.

It happened two months, one week, four days and nine hours ago. Yes, I remember this. Like a home video camera recording, the date and time are scorched into my mind permanently, and I will continue unwillingly counting the fragmented passing of time without him, like a clock lodged in an empty house. My body and soul feel empty, but still I count.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, until I actually can hear it in my mind.

I wonder if he's angry.

Apology is impossible; he is gone.

This thought tears at me. Tears at me until I can't breathe or think of anything but the huge gaping hole that has been torn away. That _I_ tore away.

Yuu…

-two months, one week, four days and eight hours ago –

We're going to Kyushu Shrine in Namakiri today, to pay our respects to the ancestors, as we do annually. Although our beliefs are not as devout as that of Oba-Chan, we still go to the temple occasionally. Tradition calls for it, and our sentimentality cements it.

Today the shrine is filled with monks, the glittering candlelight bouncing merrily off of their freshly shaven heads. Also, the throngs of tourists were filling up the main room, so I and Yuu left hastily.

The late afternoon sunlight warmed us with its watery smile, and Yuu took hold of my hand as we strolled though the cherry blossom grove. The petals floated gently down, like softly falling rain. "_Like Yuu…"_ I thought, and blushed as he squeezed my hand lightly, before turning to me with a huge smile that lit up his face.

"_We should marry right here! Right here in this grove!" _he exclaimed.

The blossom, although beautiful, seemed to hold an omen. It somehow reminded me of the samurai warriors, so young, so brave, so bold, yet so short lived. I shook this thought aide and smiled brightly back at the waiting Yuu.

When we met we seemed so different. He was studying to be a folklorist, and me a photographer. But he smiled at me, out of all the girls. I fell in love with him on our first date. He was so kind…

The scenes from that night come in flashes: the sky darkening, Yuu singing along to a tape, laughing, rain lashing the tarmac into a slick liquorish slide, the lights of another car, my hands on the wheel, off the wheel, the barrier, the screech, and then just floor and sky rolling over and over and over, until there was no distinction between the two. Then, just the silence, and the gently falling rain.

I climbed out of the steaming wreckage with haste, wincing, and then crying out at the terrible pain in my arm. It burned and froze at the same time, leaving me breathless and engulfing me in waves. I felt myself about to go under the sea of agony, my vision darkening and my head swirling like a tumble-drier, when a voice in the back of my head cried out "_Yuu!"_ Falling to my knees, I half crawled around to the passenger door. The windscreen was cracked, and cradled Yuu's head. He did not move. There were no visible injuries; he looked so peaceful. Yet his lips, his lips were so frighteningly pale. Like soured milk, I thought absently. He did not move. There were no wounds that I could see, but he did not move. After that, I stopped seeing. Hedidnotmovehedidnotmove_hedidnotmove_.

I called out his name, breaking down into tears that wrenched and squeezed, re-shaping my heart into this bruised parody that it is now.

Days march by, carrying me on their cruel, relentless shoulders. Waltzing me into a cold, empty future. In some of the seconds where my heart only feels torn to pieces, I look at the thin silver band Yuu gave me. I will never take it off. I will not, and can not, forget him. I tried taking it off once. My finger felt exposed, raw, and naked. How my soul would feel if I still had one. I do not deserve one, such is my shame, and such is my crime.

My hand wanders to my stomach, which is starting to swell slightly; even in death Yuu is kind. You see, he left me with the one gift that can make up for his death – a new life. I will call her Nozomi, hope, for what I wish I could feel, for perhaps what she will be to me.

Yuu's final gift was not just the new life within me. Within that, he may have given me my life, too.


End file.
